For the Disturbed
by TheSnicketSister
Summary: On Indefinite Hiatus! Sherlock asylum au/canon divergence/sickfic, whatever. John and Mycroft admit Sherlock to a group home against his wishes because the events with Eurus have finally taken their toll on him though he refuses to admit it. While there, Sherlock finds himself a new case to keep busy and a conspiracy in the midst, but also must face the truth of his condition.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I am a terrible writer, enjoy.

"I am fine." Sherlock said, throwing his hands in the air like he was about to be arrested. He was paler than usual, his curly hair plastered against the side of his face and his thin body shivering beneath the long black trench coat."

"Did you forget I'm a doctor?" John looked him over. If he wasn't on drugs again, something worse had to be happening. "Mycroft is on his way over."

"Mycroft? Really, John?

"Really, Sherlock."

The two men stared each other down for at least a minute before Sherlock exploded, "Doesn't he have more important things to attend to, like oh I don't know, matters of national security?"

"With you involved," John scoffed, "it bloody well is a matter of national security."

" _It bloody well is a matter of national security,"_ Sherlock tried to mock John, but only received a glare in return.

"You're acting like a child."

"You're treating me like one." Sherlock plopped himself onto the couch, crossing his arms and pouting. "I said I'm fine."

"Yeh? Well you say a lot of things. You're not getting out of this one."

John heard greeting someone downstairs and went to check if Mycroft had arrived yet, leaving Sherlock to mumble under his breath alone in the living room.

"Sherlock, your brother's here, get ready for the-" John stepped into the flat with Mycroft not too far behind to find it completely void of any trace of Sherlock Holmes, "-cab..." He finished.

"Check his room," he ordered Mycroft as he walked into the kitchen where there was still no sign.

"Dear Watson, you and I both know my brother is smarter than that." Mycroft twirled his umbrella in his hand. "Look at the scuffs on the floor there," he pointed toward the hall, "and the piece of thread caught on the archway..." he pointed toward John's room, "there."

"He's hidden himself in my room?" John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Normal people are so dull." Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. "He wouldn't leave such an obvious trail behind."

"So it's a diversion."

"Hmm, yes." Mycroft mulled something over to himself before marching toward the bathroom and pushing open the door. "I see your window's open," He said, glancing over the edge, "Sherlock, do get down from there. "

John rushed his way into the bathroom and peered out the window where Sherlock stood, just barely balancing on the moulding of the building. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, reaching out to bring him back him.

"Yes, we don't need you on another ledge now, do we, brother dear?"

Sherlock grimaced at the two of them as they watched him with hawk eyes and marched him into the street, where a cab was idling in wait.

"You know I'm not much for cabs anymore these days." Sherlock said as John forced him into the middle seat.

"Yes, quite an unfortunate incident you had a few years ago." Mycroft sniffed.

"Not unfortunate, no. Brilliant," he turned to John, "which reminds me, we need a new case."

"We don't need anything right now. You need a doctor."

"I have a doctor."

"A different kind of doctor." John sighed.

"Why would I need any kind of doctor? I'm perfectly fine. Perfectly normal."

"Normal's not an option for you."

"Then what are we wasting this time for?" Sherlock's voice wavered ever so slightly, not enough for a stranger to notice, but enough for John and Mycroft. His face was drenched in sweat, but he didn't seem to care.

The cab came to a halt in front of a small white building, one which gave off the impression of order and cleanliness just by looking at it. White crown moulding against white siding, a door with 8 neat window panes and a neat grey sign hanging alongside it. "Emmy Kole's-Group Home For The Disturbed" it read in a simple black Verdana font.

"No funny business." Mycroft said as they stepped out of the cab and onto the cobblestone pathway.

"Oh please, Mycroft. You don't even know what humour is."

"I'll have you know I pride myself on my sense of humour."

"That must be the funniest joke you ever told."

"Girls, girls," John cut in, "this isn't funny."

"It's a little funny," Sherlock said. "What are we even doing here, John? I'm not _disturbed_."

"You're disturbing."

"I'm not going in there."

"Yes, you are."

"Why?"

"You're sick, Sherlock. This woman can help."

"Maybe you're the sick one."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"I know you are but what am I?"

"What?" John narrowed his eyes at him in confusion before giving up and ringing the doorbell.

Shuffling could be heard inside, the barking of a dog rang out from somewhere in the back of the building. John turned to Sherlock, "I found the cocaine in your sock drawer yesterday."

"What are you doing looking through my sock drawer?"

"What are you doing with cocaine?"

"Making crafts." Sherlock retorted, turning up his nose, "For God sakes, John, I didn't use any of it."

"But you could've. Then there's the eating."

"What eating?" Sherlock asked.

"Exactly." John stole a glance at Mycroft, "And with everything that's happened with Eurus..."

"Nothing's happened with Eurus." Sherlock said quickly.

"It's going to have residual effects, Sherlock!" John yelled, "It has had residual effects and you know it."

"No, I don't."

"Don't be silly! You know **everything**!"

"Well, I'm flattered you think-"

Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a woman wearing a bright yellow shirt and white Capri's to compliment the sudden thick scent of lemon pledge.

Sherlock took one look at her before saying, "nope," and trying to spin on his heel back to the street. John grabbed the back of his coat just in time..

The woman was still bustling about, trying to keep a little papillon dog from rushing outside. Mycroft cleared his throat and her gaze travelled upwards, "Ms. Kole, we'd like you to meet your new patient-" he smiled and took a breath.

"Sherlock Holmes." She finished for him, her eyes wide in awe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note:** Very short, very late and horrid update because I have no idea what I'm doing, enjoy my terrible skills. Obviously don't own Sherlock

* * *

Mycroft and John were out of the driveway quick enough that Sherlock didn't even have the time to protest. He looked indignantly at the woman before him as she waved him casually into the house like this was all normal protocol for him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." Ms. Kole said in a friendly enough matter, smiling at the end in a failing attempt to gain his trust.

"I wish I could say the same for you, Ms. Kole," Sherlock glanced around at his surroundings. The walls were painted an obnoxiously bright shade of yellow, the floors panelled in shined and waxed hard wood. A flight of stairs lead up to the second floor which Sherlock didn't plan on sticking around long enough to see. "But I'm afraid there's been a change of plans," he said, "I won't be in your hair for very long." He turned to head for the door, but Ms. Kole moved to block him.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Holmes," she said, "That that is not an option." She twisted the latch behind her.

"I'm not an infant, I can unlock a door by myself," Sherlock looked at her and reached past her arm to the door handle.

"Your brother brought you here for a reason."

"Ah yes, a reason," Sherlock said, "Just like he let Moriarty go _for a reason_ and he hid my sister _for a reason_ and he, he-" his voice was getting worked up and he paused and said almost to himself, "he hid Red-beard for a reason."

"He told me all about it."

"Well he shouldn't have," Sherlock whipped his head towards her and snapped.

"Mr. Holmes...Sherlock-"

"Don't call me that."

"This is for the best."

"You don't decide what's for the best. I decide what's for the best."

"He wants me to evaluate you-"

"Evaluate me? How about we evaluate you, shall we?" Sherlock placed his hand to his chin, "From your outfit I can deduce you obviously have no regards for what other people think of you," he turned his attention to the house, "The god awful colour of your walls suggests a diagnosis of colour blindness which you refuse to acknowledge," he grabbed her wrists, "The dye on your hands tells me you're not a natural blonde and therefore I wonder what else you might be faking. A group home in the middle of London," he gestured around him, "I know all of London's streets and businesses and I have never heard of you. Your practice is relatively new, opened within the last few weeks. Fresh from medical school I presume, though I've never seen you shadowing at St. Bart's so another part of the city. That or there's something I'm missing and I never miss. Left handed, never married and judging by the amount of times you have blinked in the last few minutes, I'd say you're hiding something, shall I go on?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, you shan't."

"Then I'm leaving."

"I don't think you are."

"And why not?"

"You don't want to leave, Mr. Holmes."

"I don't want to be followed," Sherlock placed his hand on the door handle.

"It would be hard to follow you unnoticed in my 'god-awful outfit'" Ms. Kole said, mocking him good-naturedly.

"I never said your outfit was god-awful, I said your walls are," Sherlock blinked thoughtfully, "A doctor that doesn't even listen," he turned to her, "sounds like someone I know."

"Dr. Watson," she said.

"John." Sherlock replied as his hand fell away from its position.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** I don't know when I last updated this, I was kind of stuck, but figured I ought to update it soon because it's been eternity, so here is this next chapter finally, disclaim of course I don't own Sherlock, disclaim of course I don't claim my writing to be good, so enjoy.

* * *

There were a few moments of silence as Sherlock thought silently to himself, hovering his hand over the latch.

"May I take your coat?" Ms. Kole asked Sherlock calmly as he stood transfixed by the door.

"No, the coat stays with me." Sherlock shook his head and stepped away from her and very reluctantly, from the exit.

"Very well then, shall we begin or would you like a tour of the house first?"

"A tour. Yes, a tour would be wonderful," he said slowly.

"Alrighty then," Ms. Kole smiled, "follow me."

Sherlock didn't want to follow her. Sherlock didn't particularly want to follow anyone, ever, but he did as he was told.

He was glad he kept his coat, because as he wrapped his arms around himself, he could feel a shiver run cold down his entire body. Mycroft was right. John was right. He was sick. No, he chided himself, he wasn't sick. Sherlock Holmes doesn't get sick.

"This is the kitchen," she waved her hand absently at an equally obnoxiously yellow painted room with sunflowers on the table and bright white appliances crowded together in one lonely corner, "and this is the living area," she indicated an empty room with plumped up floral couches straight from the fifties, it was big enough to host about twelve people comfortably.

"Do you have any other," Sherlock hesitated, looking into the room nauseously, "patients...?" he asked at last, not fully wanting to admit that that was what he was.

"At the moment," Ms. Kole thought to herself, then answered, "only two, but you won't be seeing very much of them, they're very private people, as are you I presume, Mr. Holmes."

"As am I." Sherlock nodded as she continued the tour.

"As for the upstairs," Ms. Kole moved to place her foot on the top step, but Sherlock didn't follow, "are you coming?" she asked.

"There are people up there," Sherlock said.

"Yes, there are."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not one for crowds."

"Oh come now, Mr. Holmes, James and Missy won't be a bother. I want to show you to your room."

"James?" Sherlock's voice cracked, sending him into a panic.

"Surname, Mr. Holmes, surname."

The tension in Sherlock's body and mind subsided. Surname, of course. Even if it was a first name, it was common enough. It was just coincidence. Just... coincidence. He followed Ms. Kole up the stairs to a corridor branching out into six different rooms. A woman sat at the top of the steps in a rocking chair, humming under her breath. Sherlock thought he might have recognized the tune, but dismissed it as some mangled version of one of the classic composers he had played on his violin.

He wondered if Ms. Kole would allow someone to bring him his violin in here or if it would disturb the other patients, well, disturb them more than they were already. But since when did he care about disturbing other people? He'd see if he could get John to bring it over from the apartment. Maybe he could even play the tune the woman at the top of the stairs was singing. They passed by her too fast to get a glimpse of what she really looked like. But her hair was brown and tangled and her eyes were definitely not two different colours. His mind flashed back to Eurus and Red Beard... and John. John in the well, wanting his help, no, needing his help, water rushing in all around him. Rushing, rushing, rushing. He couldn't help him, he was powerless, powerless against everything. The great Sherlock Holmes. What was so great about him? He had almost lost everything he cared about in a matter of seconds and it was all his fault. Or was it Mycroft's fault? Or was it Eurus' fault? Or was it God's fault. If he were the type to believe, he'd say that was the perfect being to blame.

They reached the room farthest from the staircase at the end of the hall. Maybe Ms. Kole wanted to make sure he wasn't too close to any ledges.

"There's a keypad on this door," Sherlock noticed, his voice guarded as he turned to face Emmy, "why?" He suddenly lost the trust he had begun to build. It locked from the outside.

"It's just precaution, Mr. Holmes," Ms. Kole was aware of his apprehension and tried to make her voice more soothing, "we probably won't have to activate it."

"But why is it here?" Sherlock wasn't giving up that easily.

"Some of the patients in places like these can tend to be prone to," she paused, "more violent or reckless tendencies."

Sherlock looked around him, surveying the rest of the corridor. "None of the other doors have this precaution, you only have two patients, I assume one of these rooms is yours, there should be two more rooms available, _why is this one mine_?"

Ms. Kole fumbled for an answer.

"I am not violent. I am not dangerous." Sherlock pronounced every word clearly to ensure she didn't miss them. "I am a detective."

"Your brother Mycroft-" Ms. Kole began.

"My brother Mycroft is the reason I'm here in more ways than one, Ms. Kole." He drew out the 's' on the 'Ms.'

"Mr. Holmes-"

"I want a different room."

"Sherlock-"

"Do you want me to become violent?"

"There are other people on call to restrain you if you do, Mr. Holmes."

"To restrain me?" Sherlock's brow lifted. "Have you been thinking this through? How long has Mycroft been planning this?"

"Mr. Holmes, I'm going to need you to calm down."

"I am calm, I'm as calm as I'll ever be in an asylum. That's all this is, isn't it, a glorified asylum?"

"Group home," Ms. Kole corrected him. Through all the commotion, the woman at the top of the stairs never turned to face them.

"That's what it says on the door, but who trusts outward appearances these days?" Sherlock asked, grabbing her wrist and pointing to the dye on her hands again.

"I will not hesitate to restrain you, Mr. Holmes."

"I thought that was supposed to be a last resort."

"You are a special case." Ms. Kole pulled her wrists away from his grasp.

"Special case," Sherlock smiled to himself, "do you want to know what a special case was? Jim Moriarty making the whole world think I was a fraud. Making John think I was a fraud. Making me think I was a fraud," he pointed wildly at himself. The woman in the rocking chair perked up at the name ever so slightly. "A special case was my own sister almost murdering my best friend in cold blood- no," he paused, putting up a finger, "a special case was that I even had a sister in the first place." There was a manic glint in his eye. "I am not a special case, Ms. Kole. I am an ordinary man, with people surrounding me that are an extraordinary pain in my ass."

"You are starting to become an extraordinary pain in my ass, Mr. Holmes," Ms. Kole was trying to stay positive, but Sherlock could hear the grit creeping into her voice.

"It's what I do best," he turned on his heel and entered the room with the keypad, "or so I've been told," he said, facing her before shutting the door with a loud and resounding thud.


End file.
